


There Is But One Choice

by angelowl



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Episode Fix-it, Episode Related, F/M, Post-Episode: s08e05 The Bells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 19:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18857251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelowl/pseuds/angelowl
Summary: “I promised Ser Jaime when it was done that I would show you the truth. Take my hand.”





	There Is But One Choice

Brienne doesn’t have the right to publicly mourn Jaime. He was not her husband. All told they only spent a handful of months in each other’s company. And a good portion of that span of time was spent as enemies, a smaller portion as allies, confidantes, something approaching friends, and the barest sliver as lovers. 

It matters not. They wove in and out of each other’s lives for years. He knew her better than any other living soul ever has. She imagines this devastation is akin to what Jaime experienced when his sword hand was chopped off. The most vital piece of her has been cruelly torn asunder and she now sees a stranger when she looks in the mirror.

She hasn’t allowed herself to cry since he rode away without looking back. She thinks if she starts she might never stop. She must wait until she’s back on Tarth to mourn. 

It isn’t safe here.

Whatever goodwill Jaime earned by fighting beside the Northerners against the dead was gone the instant he rode south to aid his sister. No one would dare insult Brienne to her face, lest they suffer Lady Sansa’s wrath, but Brienne can see the mocking smirks, the feigned concern that glitters with wicked amusement, the avid spectators that trail after her wherever she goes in Winterfell. 

She’s no longer the Maid of Tarth and they all know it. They make no secret of being darkly satisfied that her reputation is no longer pristine and that she threw it away on such an unsavory character. She hears snatches of whispers reveling in how she vouched for the Kingslayer’s honor only to have him strip her of her own. 

Even Lady Sansa barely contains her disdain when she hears how the bodies of the Lannister twins were found entangled together beneath a pile of rubble. She has the grace, though, to flatten her lips into a thin line and look appropriately somber when she glances up at Brienne. Pity touches her delicate features as Sansa brushes her hand over Brienne’s arm. There’s sorrow in her eyes for Brienne, but also a clear reprimand. 

Shame makes her cheeks burn hot. Her lady looks upon her as if Brienne is a naïve little fool who she hopes has finally learned her lesson. Brienne resents the implication. She may have given her heart away only to have it broken, but it was a choice she would gladly repeat if given the opportunity. She knew the risks going in; her eyes had been wide open.

He was worth it.

She could never regret a single moment she spent with Jaime Lannister.

That doesn’t stop her, though, from wanting to die inside every time her lady silently signals that she shouldn’t grieve for a man who never loved her.

Lord Tyrion is even worse. When he arrives in Winterfell he pulls her aside to say how important she’d been to his brother and to let her know that if she’s ever in need of assistance, she need only ask. The condescension in his eyes tells her he never truly knew what was between she and Jaime. He's indulgent with her, striking a chord so respectful and uncharacteristically proper that she knows Jaime would laugh to hear him. 

His knowing gaze suggests she’d only been Jaime’s diversion, his way to shore up his ego, to feel good about himself by looking into the face of one who saw the best in him and loved him unconditionally.

His knowing gaze suggests that the end was inevitable since one such as she, no matter how pure of heart, could never compete with the clarion call of his brother’s true love, the other half of his soul. 

When his gaze lingers over her homely features as he takes his leave of her, she can practically hear him inwardly musing how it’s a shame goodness isn’t prized as highly as beauty.

Brienne struggles not to rear back as if she’s been slapped. 

She wants to shout that Jaime cared more for her than any of them realized. He’d even loved her in his own way. Just not enough, it turned out.

Podrick, ever loyal and true, tries to comfort her, to shield her from others’ petty cruelty or well-meaning pity, but his kindness is even less welcome. It would be her undoing.

There’s a knock at her door one evening and for a bright blinding moment, Brienne is transported back to the night when Jaime stood at the threshold of her room with Dornish wine and glasses in hand and looked at her with such naked desperation.

She dismisses the memory with a shake of her head and opens the door. It’s Lord Bran. She awkwardly invites him in, confused by his visit. They have never been on familiar terms, never even shared a single conversation.

The intensity of his gaze unsettles her, makes her feel exposed as he wheels himself in so he’s positioned in front of the fire. He stares up at her with that characteristic blankness that never fails to chill her to the bone.

He doesn’t bother with niceties just fixes her with a nod and says, “I promised Ser Jaime when it was done that I would show you the truth. Take my hand.”

He extends his hand to her and Brienne resists the urge to recoil. This young man sees too much and his touch will surely flay her alive. But this is the first time in recent days someone has uttered Jaime’s name in her presence and not had it dripping with hate, mockery, or pity. She blinks twice and then takes a step forward, reaching out her hand to his.

On her next exhale her breath freezes in her chest at the vision of Jaime, her Jaime, standing in front of the weirwood tree speaking with Bran.

She looks at the Bran whose hand is still in hers, but he doesn’t look away from his counterpart as Jaime apologizes for what he did to him.

Brienne turns back to the scene before her and drinks in the sight of Jaime. A sob lodges in her throat and tears sting her eyes, but she wills them away, lest her vision blur. 

This is too important. She has to focus.

Her chin quivers as she greedily tries to commit every last detail of Jaime’s person to memory. It’s only been weeks since she laid eyes on him and yet it feels like a lifetime. She’s terrified she’s already forgetting the nuances, the intimate shape of his stance, his laugh, his voice…the million little indefinable things that made him him. 

Absently she places this moment in time. This is after the trial. After fear had driven her to her feet, after she’d rooted herself between Jaime and the vengeful queen, and joined her fate to his for all to see. 

“Why didn’t you tell them?”

“You won’t be able to help us in this fight if I let them murder you first.”

“What about afterwards?”

“How do you know there is an afterwards?”

Jaime looks unmoored at first, but then one corner of his mouth lifts and Brienne can see his frustration mounting. “So cryptic. Tell me this: Is there an afterwards for Lady Brienne? That’s all I care to know.”

Bran considers Jaime for a long moment, just long enough for Brienne to glimpse the fear swimming in Jaime’s eyes. Fear for her. 

“That will depend on you,” he says at last. “When one dragon is all that remains, two paths will be made known to you. If you choose to stay with Lady Brienne, she will die before the first thaw of spring. If you ride south and allow yourself to be taken prisoner by the Dragon Queen’s forces, she will yet live to see old age.”

The rigid line of Jaime’s body immediately goes lax as if a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders. “Then there is but one choice left to me,” he says easily.

Brienne can’t help the gasp that escapes her mouth. Her heart races as the truth, agonizing yet inexorable, begins to dawn on her.

_Oh, Jaime, what did you do?_

Bran’s fingers drum against his lap and Brienne’s skin crawls at the cold, predatory way he gazes upon Jaime. “Your sister will die, however, if you travel south.” He delivers the warning in the same matter-of-fact tone, but there’s a hint of careless malice that lingers in its wake.

Jaime falters momentarily, his face going tight and pained, but he recovers more quickly than Brienne would ever have expected. He steels his jaw and gives a decisive nod. “As I said, there is but one choice.”

Bran releases a non-committal hum. “Lady Brienne will try to follow you when the time comes. And if she does, she will surely perish alongside your sister.”

Jaime’s chin ticks up a notch, and something deep in her belly swoops and sparks white-hot the way it always does when he arrogantly rises to a challenge. “She won’t follow me. I can be very… _persuasive_. She’ll curse my name before she ever thinks to seek me out again.” 

His self-satisfied smile is so familiar, so dear to her, that she aches when it fades like the setting sun. Brienne wants to go to him, to cradle his face in her hands, to taste his mouth against hers, feel his hand tangle in her hair. To tell him not to do this thing. But the Bran at her side grips her even more fiercely, holding her in place.

Jaime shuffles his feet and looks down at his boots before slowly kneeling in front of Bran in the snow. His face is completely open, utterly devoid of the shutters that usually keep people at bay. 

“ _Thank you_ ,” he says as earnestly as she’s ever heard Jaime speak. “Please let me hear it one more time. If I do as you say, Lady Brienne lives.”

“Yes, Lady Brienne lives,” Bran replies and then he pauses, studying Jaime’s face at length as if measuring his character. At last a ghost of a smile curves Bran’s mouth and he adds, “Within the year your son will be born on Tarth. He will grow to be brave and honest, noble and true. He will be the very best of his parents.”

Jaime’s eyes widen in shock. His hand trembles at his side. Brienne feels her own chin quivering at confirmation of the news she’d only recently come to suspect herself.

Jaime bows his head and his shoulders briefly shake with emotion as he struggles to compose himself. When he finally lifts his head, he smiles so brilliantly that Brienne involuntarily murmurs his name with all the longing and love and tenderness she’s been so careful to keep under lock and key.

She almost fools herself into thinking he hears her because he tilts his head for the barest moment and his face softens the way it always did whenever they were in bed together and she whispered his name.

Jaime reaches out to grip Bran’s hand in his own. “Promise me when it’s done that you’ll tell her…” He trails off with a faint self-deprecating laugh. “Tell her we don’t get to choose who we love.”

Brienne blinks as the vision fades and her surroundings come back into focus. She barely hears Bran wheel himself out. She places a hand over her belly and releases a strangled cry.

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet is my attempt at making sense of Jaime's mindset this season. I was puzzled by the scene between the Lannister brothers in 805 since I couldn't reconcile Jaime's decision to return to King's Landing and his sister with his marked apathy and lack of a concrete plan of action once he arrived at his destination. The only way I could get a handle on it is if I assumed leaving Winterfell in itself was the act he somehow knew would achieve his aims. 
> 
> And since it isn't explicitly spelled out in Bran's prophesy, I thought I'd share my reasoning for why Brienne would've died if Jaime stayed in Winterfell...I believe word would have eventually reached Cersei of their cozy living situation and she would have ordered Brienne to be murdered. And this time she'd have been smart enough to send an assassin who didn't have warm fuzzy feelings for her bros. I still can't believe after all the little looks at the Dragonpit between Cersei, Jaime, and Brienne in the finale last season, there was absolutely no follow-up to it this season. Cersei really isn't one to take these kind of things lightly.


End file.
